


Get A Grip (On Yourself)

by DarthZiggler



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, kinda pointless shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthZiggler/pseuds/DarthZiggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like any self respecting man, Sheamus enjoyed the finer things on tour life; cooked meals, hot showers, single hotel rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get A Grip (On Yourself)

**Author's Note:**

> A present for stephluvzrasslin on tumblr, because she's thirsty and i'm a good friend
> 
> guess what? i don't like Sheamus at all, this was difficult
> 
> Not strictly M/M I kept it vague so everyone could enjoy it. 
> 
> Don't forget that my requests are still open :)

Sheamus pulled his leather wallet from his tight denim jeans, flicking it open he pulled his keycard from it, running it through his thumb and forefinger. He unlocked the door and threw his kitbag into the corner of the room, eager to get some relaxation after a gruelling match.  
“Fuck.” He slammed the door shut and threw himself against it, clutching at his ribs. He tore open his button up, exposing pale, bruised flesh.  
“I can't believe Roman attacked me again. It's not like I did anything to piss him off.” Sheamus was complaining to an empty room, as he often did; sometimes Barrett was around to hear it, but tonight he had scored the single room, ‘champions privileges’ he had said, ignoring the sarcastic comments falling from Del Rio’s mouth.  
Walking over to the full length mirror - almost full length anyway, he had to crouch to do his hair - he contorted to get a good look at the damage. They didn't look broken, he pushed cold fingertips into his discoloured skin, they didn't feel broken either; but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt like a motherfucker. Wincing, Sheamus moved his arm away, popping open the last few buttons of his shirt. Undoubtedly ruining it. Shrugging the blue fabric off his shoulders he turned his attention away from scouting for injuries and towards working out how he was going to spend his night of sweet solitude.  
First, he was going to take a fucking shower, then maybe he’d sit in his underwear and get a Chinese. Or he could just jack off. Either way, he was getting out of his clothes.  
He started by hastily undoing his belt, pulling it through the loops and chucking it in the general direction of his other belongings. The jeans were tight and clung closely to his thick thighs, accentuating the the curve of his ass. He popped open the button, relieving some of the tension in the denim but absolutely none from his body, and pulled them over his ass to the midpoint of his thigh. Sheamus carried on stripping, kicking off his shoes and socks, shimmying his jeans down his calves and over his ankles. Until he was standing, in nothing but his tight black boxers. His muscles were cramped and his bones ached, shower it was then. He made his way into the bathroom; peeling the waistband of his underwear over his hipbones as he went. The fabric was pulled taut, not quite fitting a man of his build, the outline of his cock showing through. 

The underwear was dropped and he shut himself in the shower. 

After turning the dial up to ‘as hot as it takes’ he ducked his head under the boiling water, working chunks of gel from his hair. Sheamus lathered a handful of Herbal Essences into his roots, Barrett had presented the bottle to him after RAW one night, fully gift wrapped of course. The joke was on him though, it smelt wonderful. The sticky residue was finally washing out, hair sitting flat. Sheamus knocked his head back and let the shampoo drain from his hair as the foam rolled between his shoulderblades. The water beat down hot and heavy across his chest, stinging his ribs but soothing the strain in his muscles. After hesitating momentarily, he began washing, shower gel stolen from some hotel room along the way. Big hands massaged his neck, shoulders, pecs; his lips parted and he exhaled sharply, beginning to feel some pleasure through the pain. Soapy suds ran down his stomach as fingertips brushed against his rib cage. Abs fully tensed, each breath shot tendrils of pain across his body but his hands kept exploring. Another squeeze of gel, another excuse to feel himself. He kneaded his thighs and pinched his ass. Cock growing harder by the second.  
Resting himself on the shower door, Sheamus squeezed the base of his cock between his forefinger and thumb, the remainder of his fingers cradling his balls. 

Then his head caught up with his hands. Reluctantly he drew his hand away and rinsed his body. He was in no state to jack off standing up, in the shower no less. He was a champion and he had the room to himself.  
Shutting the water off he stepped out into the cold air. He shivered. A sigh of relief, the pain was much duller now. Grabbing a towel from the heated rack he took a pass over his body, collecting most loose droplets of water. The towel was eventually discarded somewhere between his underwear and his clothes. He could always tidy in the morning. 

Sheamus had positioned himself lounged on pillows propped against the headboard, the light was dim and he was ready.  
“Consider it a little title win celebration.” He justified to himself, ignoring the fact that he’d already had the title for a good few weeks. 

He spat in his hand, no one likes a dry handjob, and sometimes you have to make do. A full handed grasp, his left hand was already tangled in the sheets beside him. Squeezing gently and rocking slowly, he wanted this to last. His eyes closed and his head rolled back against the soft headboard. Thighs already twitching from the must needed contact.  
“Fuck.” A thumb swipe over the tip of the head was all it took for for a few droplets of precome to ooze down the side of his cock. He wasn't expecting a good orgasm by any means, but he was on the right track. 

His left hand traveled to his inner thigh, pinching and scratching at the skin like someone else was there, encouraging him to speed up. His hand was following some wild strokes by now, cock twitching in his slackening grip. His body was sticky with sweat, his lip was cracking around the teeth buried firmly into it.  
“Shit.” He was moaning, loud. His legs were weak and his arm was tired. Stirring his hips he began to fuck upwards into his clenched fist, his entire body was shaking. The side of his face was pressed firmly into the headboard, and his left hand was digging blunt nails across his chest. 

Then he tensed, his body collapsed into the mattress. He was feeling fucking red hot and he came hard, cursing. Obviously, he’d rather be fucking someone. He was a dominant man by nature and true power was having someone bent over your knees. But getting off was getting off, and he could do it pretty good himself.  
His chest felt tight, his heavy breaths putting him in a position of near agonising pain, but he felt good. Fucking fantastic.  
His cock pulsed, laying two streaks of thick cum across his shuddering body. 

Then silence. Stillness.  
He needed time to take it all in. 

A minute or so passed and he opened his eyes, thighs covered in claw marks he would have to think of an excuse for. Come splattered against his bruised abdomen. A weak yet cocky smile gracing his face. As much as he wished someone else could see it. He wasn't ashamed to admire his own handiwork. 

Sometimes the comedown was his favourite part, he could reflect, self congratulate. Tonight? Yeah, tonight was worth it.


End file.
